Winter: Thursday Evening Poem by John Bowring

The day is done;-the night comes calmly forth,
Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even:
The golden wain rolls round the silent north,
And earth is slumbering 'neath the smiles of heaven.
Like yon celestial torches, let me press
Forward-and heavenward-on my destined way;
Clad, like the stars, in robes of holiness;
Bright, like the stars, with joy's enrapturing ray.
Calm evening! whose mild presence can restore
The peace ne'er found amidst the world's rude cares,
Can bid the weeping eyelids weep no more,
And chase all misery-all, except despair's!


When round the world we look, how many a grief
Invites the soul to sober thought, and checks
The gush of daring pride;-pangs that relief
Approaches not,-and melancholy wrecks
Of once fair-flattering happiness, now scatter'd
On life's tempestuous shores! What prospects blighted!
What piles of fond anticipation shatter'd,
And gaudy dreams in which the soul delighted!
These all may serve to loosen the dull fetter
Which binds us to this world-and bid us look
Beyond it to a brighter and a better;
And read the page of that imposing book,
Where are the records of all ages past
And present, and all ages yet to come;
Existence' infant moments, and its last,
From the earth's first awaking, to its tomb.


Life's scenes are rich in eloquence, and truth,
And wisdom!-and their flow'rets sweetly grow
In the dark valley of affliction's ruth,
As in joy's gay and summer-sunshine glow.
Be it our lot to pluck them, and to twine
Their separate beauties in one moral wreath,
To decorate life's ever-crumbling shrine,
To hang upon the canopy of death.
The steady stream of virtue flows serenely,
Till in eternity's vast ocean lost;
Tho' the rude winds of chilling time blow keenly,
And bind its surface in the fettering frost;
Still it flows calmly on-and still shall flow,
And fertilize the earth;-and can it ever
Sleep in its energetic progress? No!
Its course shall never be impeded-never!


Day after day, the light of heaven appears;
Night after night, dark curtains wrap the skies;
And man sinks downward in the vale of years,
Buds, blossoms, bears his fruit, decays and dies:
He fills the spot his fathers fill'd of old;
Their ashes now mix with the cheerless clay-
And he soon, slumb'ring on earth's bosom cold,
Shall lie as low, and sleep as sound as they.
And other generations rise and fall,
Till the all-embracing plan shall be complete,
Christ own'd the Saviour and the Judge of all,
The power of evil vanquish'd at his feet,
And death extinct for ever!-O to share
His triumphs,-and from his benignant voice
The approving 'Welcome to thy home!' to hear-
Were all of earthly hopes and all of heavenly joys.